


Two of Swords

by DemonsDaughter



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, Collars, Dom/sub, Injury Recovery, Interrogation, M/M, Master/Pet, Master/Slave, Mech Preg, Mental Coercion, Mind Games, Mpreg, Physical Abuse, Prisoner of War, Rape, Rape Recovery, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Sex, Sticky Sex, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Stockholm Syndrome, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-20
Updated: 2018-01-17
Packaged: 2019-01-20 03:17:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12423951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DemonsDaughter/pseuds/DemonsDaughter
Summary: After being given a second chance and declared an Autobot by Kup, Drift nevertheless continues to be haunted by Turmoil and the memories of his final meeting with his former commander. As he and Rodimus become closer on the Lost Light he is unaware an old enemy has resurfaced. Turmoil is once again on the hunt for his traitorous second-in-command.Back on Cybertron, Springer is put in charge of Polyhex's POWs after the facility they were held in has fallen into disarray. As he works on restoring order to the prison he is surprised to find he recognizes one of the mechs from Turmoil's old crew.





	1. Drift ~ The Past

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this fic sitting around in some files for a while and figured I may as well post it here! I'm not sure if anyone wants to read any more Rodimus/Drift stuff or if they want to see Turmoil come back full force to cause trouble haha. 
> 
> There will also be one of Turmoil's crew members who I have called Splice, who gets some action. I like giving once- nameless mechs a chance! I have attached a link to the picture of Splice (the mech desperately trying to work the controls). He's the boy with the purple visor and black and laurel green plating. Just in case anyone wants to see who I took a liking to~ 
> 
> http://tfwiki.net/mediawiki/images2/e/e2/Turmoil_and_the_Minion.jpg
> 
> Ya'll let me know if you want any more of this stuff and ALSO I have never written about Drift before. This is seriously a chance for me to get to know his character and experiment with how he and Rodimus both develop. Please give me suggestions (nicely, if you will) on how to view Drift and Roddy as characters so I don't make them one-dimensional or shallow :)
> 
> And as always, enjoy!

Killing Deadlock was becoming more of a task than Turmoil had expected. He was surprised that his former second in command had evaded all of his attempts so far, the hulking black tank brooding over his recent failure. They had lost the signal from Deadlock’s most recent location and were on the hunt once again. A low growl rumbled up from the tank’s throat, his citrine optics hidden behind his visor and his clenched dentas behind his battle mask. 

“Sir! Sir, I found a signal again! He’s on one of the nearby planets, we’re just trying to locate which one!” 

Turmoil turned to see one of his twelve crewmen, Splice, was excitedly pointing at his monitor. The tank rose from his command chair to see what the other mech had discovered, soon coming to stand beside the laurel green and black jet. Splice looked so proud of himself, a huge grin of victory spread across his faceplate. 

“Deadlock is in this cluster of planets somewhere. Once we get closer I can narrow down the signal to precisely where he is.”

“Very good, Splice. Keep an optic on his location and alert me when we get closer-”

Suddenly a loud thoom sounded from one side of the ship, Turmoil silently whipping his helm around to glower in the direction of the noise. Well, they were either being shot at or the ship had finally lost an engine. They had needed to dock on a planet sooner for repairs but had chased Deadlock’s trail more readily. Now they would be forced to land at the closest planet and deal with the repairs there. 

-Silverswipe, I need you down in the engine room. One of the engines has finally given out- Turmoil commed, calm as could be. He briefly wondered if he should be more worried considering that they had a whole brig full of Autobot prisoners, but there was nothing to be done for it.

“Splice, land the ship and then watch the prisoners while the repairs are dealt with.”

“Yes, sir!” Splice yipped, eager to be of use. “I just want to say that this planet isn’t all that friendly with our kind, though. So the repairs really should be done as much under cover as possible and if anyone goes outside they should make sure that-”

“That’s enough. You talk too much,” Turmoil rumbled, the aerial’s expression crestfallen. 

Purple optics lowered behind his visor, the multicolored jet going back to his task in total silence. His hands skipped across the keys, sending the correct commands for the cruiser to land in an available docking station on the planet below. All he had wanted to do was show Turmoil what good work he could do! He was sometimes ignored for being an aerial, physically a weaker class than the tanks and armored vehicles that for the most part made up Turmoil’s forces. 

The black tank didn’t seem to notice how his taciturn attitude had shut down one of his most loyal followers, lumbering back to his command chair to watch the monitors for any approaching danger. He was glad that the engine was falling apart of its own accord and hadn’t been shot. That would have been quite a different story. 

After a handful of minutes the ship finally landed, settling with ease into the docking station. The engineer on board, Silverswipe, was already tinkering with the ruined engine. He told Turmoil it didn’t look good and called his assistant to help the job move quicker. Apparently a lot more than the engine had failed. That meant they would be staying in the docking station for longer than Turmoil wanted, the tank letting out an unhappy growl as he got up and wandered out of the command room. Splice and the second navigator remained behind to put the ship into idle and order fuel to be brought to it. 

Everything seemed calm, their stop ordinary. Turmoil’s cruiser had been through a lot and was no stranger to needing repairs at various hub worlds and planets. No one thought they were in danger, considering the local population to be a minor threat even if it was known they did not care for Cybertronians. Turmoil told everyone to tend to whatever duties they had been assigned for the month and busied himself with his own work. Little did they know the mech their were hunting was in turn hunting them. 

****

Deadlock, now known as Drift, knew Turmoil’s ship well. He remembered all the passcodes, the locking mechanisms, the locations of the security sensors and monitors…it would not be difficult to infiltrate the cruiser and release the prisoners. He was greatly changed from the last time he had seen his former commander, sliding like a cat around the docking supports that had been deployed around the cruiser. 

It was great to have some connections and to have even more credits. Drift had paid off one of the dock workers to give him access to the platform, darting into the enclosed dome without being spotted. The ship was idling, being refueled and repaired. Drift could hear the buzzing of a drill from one of the engines. That old thing had finally burnt out it seemed. 

‘About time,’ he thought as he made his way under the ship. None of the alarms had gone off, Drift absolutely thrilled that he had gotten so close to Turmoil without the tank realizing he was there. It shouldn’t be hard to release the prisoners, Drift hoping that he could get fully inside without a hitch in his plan. 

Clambering up the support he soon located one of the escape hatches, imputing the code to enter through it. The door hissed open and once again there was no sign of alarm from the mechs within the ship, Drift slipping into the side of the cruiser without a sound. 

He was now inside Turmoil’s domain. 

Alert and ready for anything, Drift made his way around the escape pod with care, avoiding stepping on anything that might make a noise. He did a scan of the room and found no life signatures or heat anywhere, stepping out from behind the pod more boldly when he was sure no one was there to intercept him. One of his head finials flicked, for a moment believing something was coming. 

Suddenly the side of the ship exploded, Drift being thrown down onto the ground as metal and shrapnel went flying in every direction. Covering his helm with his arms, Drift waited for the explosion to calm. Rolling over he was stunned to see more Cybertronains were joining the rescue mission, all of them wearing clear Autobot brands. 

“Hey, that’s one of them!” Roadbuster growled, turning his massive gun on Drift who swiftly got up and shook his head. 

“I’m not one of them! I don't have a badge!” he insisted, showing he had no visible brand. Thankfully Kup put a hand on Roadbuster’s upper arm to hold him back, the huge mech grumbling irritably about not getting to have any fun. 

“Easy now, Roadbuster. This mech ain’t lying, he’s a neutral as far as I can see. But why are ya here?” Kup demanded as the rest of the Wreckers spread out and began moving into the hallway. 

“I’m for the same reason you are,” Drift said curtly, Kup taking a quick drag of his cy-gar before he motioned for the others to get moving. He didn’t have time for some neutral trying to convince him of Primus knows what. He just needed to get Sandstorm out of that brig along with the others. Decepticons with Autobot triple changers was never a good thing. 

“You can’t stay here. Come with us,” Kup barked, motioning with his helm for Drift to move. “Perceptor has taken an interest in ya, looks like.”

“You’ve been upgraded with-”

Drift didn’t want to answer what materials that had been used in his upgrade, so instead he darted ahead of the group and motioned for them to follow. “I know the way to get to the brig and I know how we can get in. Follow me!”

The Wreckers turned sidelong glances at one another, wondering if they should follow as asked. Eventually Roadbuster decided it was fine since they could always kill the white and red mech. “All he has are two swords,” he grunted, plodding along after Drift as the others followed. Kup was still unsure but he was beginning to think the unknown bot looked a little familiar in some way. 

Drift led the Wreckers deeper into Turmoil’s ship, finally hearing some alarms from the upper levels. It was time to deploy the next phase of his plan. He had all the security codes, the white and red mech sprinting to the nearest control panel. He unlocked it and pressed the red button for emergency shutdown, effectively locking all of the doors while he input a new lock code. Turmoil’s crew wouldn’t stand a chance of figuring the password out soon enough to reach the brig. 

****

Turmoil got the message from the engineer that someone had blasted into the left hull, the tank snarling with anger. A mighty fist crashed down on the control panel he was sitting by when he got the news. Calling for all of his mechs to head for the breach, Turmoil began to charge up his gun.

He knew who was in his ship. It was those pesky Wreckers led by that ancient bucket of bolts, Kup. Curling his lips back in a snarl behind his battle mask, Turmoil loped along with a thundering gait behind his faster crew. 

Splice and the others were moving quickly, none wanting to incur Turmoil’s wrath. They soon came to a halt in front of a locked door. The emergency protocols had been activated by someone, Splice frowning when he realized the enemy either had a very good spy or they were being helped by an insider. Deadlock had been on one of the planets according to the monitors, so what if he was on this one helping the Autobots? 

Regardless of his worries, he rushed to the keypad and typed in their usual password only to find it wasn’t correct. He tried twice more, finding each time the door wouldn’t budge. By that point Turmoil had arrived, venting deeply from running. Tanks did not enjoy such activities and he was no exception. Making that amount of weight and armor move quickly burnt up energy and took a great deal of effort. Splice turned to look at him, expression barely concealing his fear. He didn’t want to be the one to say they couldn’t get in! 

Turmoil didn’t say a word, motioning aggressive for Splice to move away from the door’s control panel. Splice did so, slinking out of range. He noticed how Turmoil was eyeing the barrier to the next room, his helm tilted ever so slightly as a sign he was listening. The crew members hovered quietly behind their commander, waiting to see what Turmoil had planned and what orders he would give. 

****

-They’re trying to get through the locks- Perceptor commed to the rest of the team, hearing how someone had tried to crack the password a handful of times before stopping. The scientist decided he might as well add some more blocks to the code, moving towards the door to do so. 

It was a huge mistake, Perceptor’s chest suddenly ripped apart by a flash of blue light. The Wrecker didn’t even have a chance to cry out, his frame collapsing to the ground as Turmoil stepped through the massive hole he had just blasted into the door. The blockade had been no match for his overpowered arm canon, the tank padding into the room to face the Wreckers. 

His optics scanned the mechs he was about to fight, locking on to one figure he knew very well. Too well. Rage overcame him as he recognized Deadlock, charging his weapon to fire again. He wanted to blast that traitor right to hell! Around him the fighting began, laser blasters and gunfire sounding as the Autobots met his crew. 

“Deadlock,” he spat, charging for the red and white mech as he fired. 

Splice had been momentarily distracted when he saw his leader blast through a Wrecker, surprised it had been so easy. Those mechs were mortal just like anyone else—which was a good sign. Sometimes rumors went around that the Wreckers were practically invincible. Grinning confidently the laurel green and black mech raised his gun at Springer and Twin Twist.

He didn’t realize that Turmoil had gone running off after someone, more intent on not getting shot. Splice managed to get a hit on Springer, knocking him back as his lower arm erupted in a spray of energon and torn metal. Splice moved forward to fire again when Roadbuster let out a deep whoop of excitement, a crack sounding overhead. 

Splice looked up to see a wall of debris from the ceiling coming down on him and the rest of the crew. He let out a brief shout of horror before everything went black.

****

Some accounts said the whole ship exploded, but in reality the core of the cruiser didn’t decimate the entire vessel. Instead the core had overheated, burst so a quarter of the ship was blasted to bits, and then caught fire. The Wreckers were searching for Perceptor through the rubble left from Roadbuster’s clever plan to blast the ceiling. 

“Not Percy,” Twin Twist huffed when he pulled a heap of debris off a crushed orange and red form that had once been Turmoil’s engineer. Just to check that he was dead Springer pressed two digits against the enemy’s neck and found there was no pulse whatsoever. “We got another dead one. How many were there?”

“Eleven including Turmoil,” Springer answered, helping to search for the fallen Wrecker. Unlike some of the accounts there was no need to rush out of the ship considering the fire was relatively far away from their current position since Kup had assured Turmoil was dead and Drift was on his way back to help search for Perceptor. 

“We’ve found most of the slag piles, but still no Percy,” Roadbuster growled, heaving off a huge sheet of heavy metal from the pile of rubble. Underneath he found two more of Turmoil’s crew, surprised that one of them was still alive, having been protected in a small space the falling ceiling had created as it collapsed. It had prevented the mech from being crushed immediately. 

Twin Twist and Springer went to investigate, telling Roadbuster to continue searching for Perceptor. They were better at dealing with the enemy than he was. Roadbuster was more the type to shoot first and ask questions later, most of all when his lines were still pumping with leftover adrenaline from a battle. He lived for the fight, not to deal with survivors from the enemy lines. 

Splice felt the oppressive weight being lifted, purple visor cracked and broken entirely on one side. His frame was dented and bloody from the shards of metal that had pierced his thinner armor. Upon seeing the enemy was standing over him, the jet attempted to get up and bolt. He didn’t want to die, not like that. The green and black mech attempted to jerk away when Springer’s hand reached for him. His action was met with a horrendous agony that shot through his left leg like a jolt of electricity. The mech let out a sharp shriek and collapsed, hands clawing into the dusty rubble as he tried to free himself and cope with the pain at the same time. 

His head spun, Splice flopping and writhing around in a desperate yet futile attempt to escape. He made a very undignified and un-Decepticon squeal when a hand closed around the back of his neck. The sound of a charging gun made it to his audio receptors and Splice knew he was going to die. They were going to shoot him without even allowing him a chance to fight back!

“Stay down and don’t move,” came an order from one of the mechs hovering above him.

Splice of course didn’t obey, thrashing and screeching as his mangled leg continued to be twisted and yanked about. 

“Don’t shoot him, he’s-”

A shot was fired from Springer’s gun before Drift could finish, the triple changer cursing loudly since he couldn’t take it back now. Because of Splice’s movement he hadn’t been shot in the head as Springer had intended, the howling mech having been hit in his upper back through a shoulder blade strut. Apparently it had hit something in the Decepticon’s spine as well, the aerial beginning to twitch slightly from some kind of nerve damage.

“He’s not as bad as some of the others,” Drift said hurriedly, running into the room and kneeling down to see if anything could be done. Springer growled in response.

“I’ll shoot the next one through his head and put the poor bastard out of his misery. He’s suffering, it’s the right thing to do. Besides, why would you want to save one of Turmoil’s crew?” he demanded, turning a dangerous optic on Drift. Perhaps he would need another bullet for the newcomer as well…

“If the kid says he ain’t that bad, let him do what he wants with the guy. We’ve got room in our own brig for ‘Cons and this Drift hasn’t lied yet,” Kup’s gruff voice suddenly announced, the old mech entering with a collection of Autobot prisoners behind him, including Sandstorm. “It’s about time we get off this cruiser, the fire is getting a lot hotter down there.”

“We haven’t found Perceptor, though,” Roadbuster said, bringing a dark frown to Kup’s faceplate. 

“Everyone, get searching through that rubble! We’ve got some time, so make good use of it!”

Meanwhile Drift and Twin Twist worked together to move the support beam that had mangled Splice’s left leg, Drift trying to hold Splice still as the mech twitched and very quietly keened. He was dying, that much was obvious. His frame was starting to dull in color and his venting was ragged. 

“Hold on,” Drift murmured, feeling a strange sense of obligation. He needed to save Splice in order to prove Turmoil wrong. He wasn’t going to kill everyone and run off as the tank had claimed he would when pinned to the wall of the engine room. 

Drift was not Deadlock any longer.


	2. Drift/Turmoil ~ The Past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally found a chance to post the next chapter of this piece of work haha. I don't entirely know where I'm going with it but I think Roddy should appear in the next chapter :D

Drift made sure no one else handled the wounded mech on his way into the Autobot ship. The place was foreign to him, his helm finials flicking closer to his helm in a display of subtle insecurity. Drift didn’t like walking into situations he had little knowledge of, most of all when he had a green and yellow triple changer entirely convinced he was the enemy. 

“How many wounded?” came a tired, gruff voice from within the new ship. Drift looked up to see a red and white medic was waiting to be given something to do, arms crossed in annoyance over his chest as he regarded the small crew of Wreckers and rescued Autobots.

Splice hadn’t stopped twitching during his brief move from the floor of Turmoil’s cruiser to the Autobot’s vessel. He was pale, clearly under stress, and suffering from energon loss. Drift didn’t say a word as he swiftly moved towards Ratchet with the brutalized aerial. The medic was about to take the damaged mech when Springer stepped in and swiftly pushed Drift and Splice aside in order to place Perceptor in Ratchet’s waiting arms. 

“He needs it more and he’s one of us. The other one is a ‘Con, so he can wait,” Springer growled, feeling no mercy whatsoever towards Splice. “I told them to let me finish him off back at the other ship but the bleeding spark stopped me.”

“Just because I don’t want to see you murder someone who can’t do anything to retaliate! What kind of soldier does that?” Twin Twist demanded, glowering at his brother in arms. “He’s worth something if he survives because he can talk about Turmoil and any other information he might have. Leave him be and if someone can repair him that’s all well and good.”

Springer disliked being told what to do by the other members of the team, although he thankfully backed down once Ratchet did in fact gather up Perceptor before Splice and rush the dying mech off to the med bay. As the red and white medic hurried along he called for one of his assistants to tend to the Decepticon, Drift still cradling the jet in his arms. 

The assistant was secretly nervous about working on a mech in such poor condition but took Splice regardless, his medical coding urging him to do whatever he could. He had to stabilize the other and keep him alive long enough for Ratchet to tend to him later. The assistant assured Drift he would do what he could, noticing how stoic the white and red mech’s faceplate was. 

Drift didn’t say a word, going to sit down apart from the Wreckers. He didn’t want to be under Springer’s angry gaze, nor did he want to be questioned right then. He needed to pray. Not only for the recovery and survival of Splice, but also for mercy on his own soul. Primus would never forget the sins he had committed-no one could-but he was determined to let their god know he was eternally sorry. 

Kup glanced over at Drift, watching the other silently bow his head and close his hands around one another. He was in mediation of sorts, the older mech deciding to leave him be. Drift had all sorts of demons hounding him, none of which Kup could help with. Those were for Drift alone. Spiritual healing would be a long road, Kup taking another drag from his cy-gar. Poor kid. It tugged on his spark to see someone so young so tortured by what the world had made him into.

Drift silently meditated over what he had done that day, glad to feel some sense of completion. He had helped save the Autobot prisoners from Turmoil, prevented Splice’s immediate death, and had proven Turmoil incorrect. His character was stronger than the tank’s as he did not mindless kill and harm others. He had proven that he wouldn’t murder another and run. 

He had shown mercy.

The white and red mech hoped Splice would survive. He hardly knew Splice other than some brief encounters on the ship while he had been Turmoil’s second in command, but all the same he wanted the medic to come back out and say that the Decepticon would make a full recovery. It was mostly for selfish reasons though, Drift wanting desperately to embrace forgiveness and peace. He doubted he would ever find such things, but it was worth fighting for. 

“What’re you thinkin’ about, kid?” Kup asked, the older mech sitting down beside him. Drift’s helm finials flicked back, briefly startled by the interruption to his meditation ritual. He sighed, unsure what to say in response. 

"I'm worried about Splice," he said simply, feeling that it was the best answer he could give at the moment. Kup nodded slowly, taking a drag from his cy-gar and blowing out a puff of smoke after. Drift watched with interest, for a moment imagining the teal-green mech as some kind of ancient draconic mech with smoke billowing from his maw. 

"Makes sense," Kup grunted, raising an optic ridge at Drift. "I can't say I knew the guy, but I trust you've got a good sense of character. You left Turmoil, after all. That has to count for something."

Kup bumped Drift's arm, the sleek racing model inwardly wincing at the rather rough gesture. He had no idea if it was friendly, his only clue another grunt from the grizzled soldier. 

"You saw Turmoil for what he really was. I'm proud of you," he said, a tiny hint of a smile on the corner of a weathered lip. Kup’s faceplate was old and showed the wear of war and age, scars and even some creases that resembled wrinkles creating an image of a veteran in the field. It oddly comforted Drift, the mech unable to help from offering a tired smile back. 

With some rest he would feel a lot better and become more curious about the Wreckers. For now Drift needed space and a chance to decompress from the rescue, the fighting, and the death of Turmoil. A fleeting thought crossed Drift’s mind concerning the demise of the black tank, wondering if he had melted to death or suffocated from too much smoke entering his vents. It was hard to know, but a part of Drift hoped it had been torturous. 

As much as he longed to show mercy and turn his back on Deadlock, the mech he had been before, Drift still felt a pang of revenge in his spark. It was so hard to fully forgive someone who had murdered and rampaged for far too long. Not only that, but Turmoil had been rather abusive to his crew if his mood turned sour. 

‘He got what he deserved and from this day forward I will try to forgive him. So long as I actively try…that’s all that Primus truly wants. I need to bring mercy into my spark and do good.’

Drift took a slow intake and shuttered his optics, slipping away into his meditative state. He forgot all about the Wreckers and Turmoil, focused more heavily on his own sins. Turmoil had been bad, but so had Deadlock. Drift had a great deal of vile sins to repent. 

Kup watched as Drift faded into his own world, getting up from his seat next to the younger bot to return to Springer and Twin Twist. Springer glanced over at the old soldier, growling quietly. “I still don’t trust him. How can you let someone who worked with Turmoil onto the ship?” 

“He’s got enough of his own demons to fight so he won’t bother us. Leave him be and we’ll talk to him when he’s ready. There’s no rush. We’ll be on the ship for a good week before we reach Cybertron,” Kup replied evenly, raising an optic ridge at the gold and green triple changer. Springer huffed, flicking his rotor blades. 

“I don’t trust him for a second, but I know I can count on you. I just hope your judgement is right.”

“I hope so too, kid,” Kup chuckled, blowing a lazy smoke ring into the air. 

****

The heat was unimaginable, Turmoil snarling as he wrenched his shoulders free of Drift’s swords. Bleeding profusely from the wounds, the brute paid it little mind. Wheezing and coughing from the intense smoke filling the engine room, he yanked the swords out of the wall and ran for the exit. The tank plowed through a wall of flames to get out, steeling himself for the scorching agony with a tightly grit jaw. 

Turmoil amazingly didn’t scream, instead he made a choked gasp as his frame burned. His armor took the brunt of the flames but some of his seams and protoflesh were affected, the areas blistering and melting. It hurt but the black mech wasn’t about to be stopped. He had survived and was driven with a need to preserve himself to fight another day.

Deadlock would regret what he had done. 

Turmoil crashed through a door and barreled down a smokey hallway, rearing back like a panicked equinoid when he came faceplate to faceplate with a wall of towering flame coming from a broken fuel line for the ship. Optics widening behind his visor, the mech swiftly turned and loped heavily back the way he had come. 

It was hard to vent, the tank panting and coughing as he desperately tried to find a way out. Finally he chose to blast his way free with his arm canon, using a portion of his energy storage to break through. Once he had made a significantly sized escape route the tank leapt forward and began to further open the side of the ship with his hands. 

Muscle cabling strained as Turmoil worked to make the breach in the hull big enough for him to fit through and not get stuck in, his back feeling the impending doom of fire behind him. There was no turning around now. Energon that bled from his shoulders bubbled and burned on its way down his arms, the temperature in the stricken ship hot enough to essentially boil his lifeblood. 

Turmoil snarled when his right shoulder gave out, popping free of its socket with a sickening sound. The wave of pain combined with the smoke made Turmoil nauseous, the tank swaying for a moment before he regained control of himself. He would be damned if he died trapped in his own ship from a fire. So with a mighty charge he hurled himself at the torn hull and went careening through it. 

The black tank felt himself falling, optics briefly registering the ground was approaching when he landed on it with a harsh crack. The only thing that prevented his demise was his armor, the tank laying dazed for a second on the landing platform under his blazing ship. He stared into the smokey night sky, taking a shuddering breath as he forced his frame to roll over. If he didn’t move he would be too close to the vessel when the fire reached the fuel and ammo dumps and erupted in a nasty explosion. 

“Hey! Someone’s on the landing dock!” 

The sound of footsteps roused Turmoil into moving, the tank shifting as he felt two pairs of hands on him. A deep warning growl rumbled from his chest, the mech trying to push away the helping civilians out of habit. The tank did not like anyone touching him.

“We’re trying to help!” someone snapped, the local dragging Turmoil closer to safety. “Stupid metal heap…you’re going to cost me an entire docking station and probably more once that ship of yours explodes!”

Turmoil said nothing in response, barely even registering the ground shaking boom that occurred forty-three seconds later. 

Fading in and out of consciousness, Turmoil was brought to a medical facility on the hubworld. The inhabitants did not like Cybertronians but understood if they allowed one to die the rest would surely find out. Cybertronians had an uncanny knack of knowing where their brethren were at all times. So the locals decided it was better to lightly treat Turmoil’s wounds and see if he would die while being treated rather than leaving him out on the landing dock. 

Turmoil did not die as local officials had hoped. Even with very minimal treatment, Turmoil’s frame was healthy and strong, quickly repairing itself with little aid. Once the bleeding in his arms had been stopped the brute was on his way to recovery. His vents were burned along with much of his body, not to mention his broken rub struts and dislocated shoulder, but Turmoil refused to die. 

After four days in the hospital he stumbled out, determined to find a real Cybertronian medic who could set him straight. As much as he loathed anyones hands pawing at him, Turmoil knew he would be useless with such heavy, lasting damage. If he wanted to remain a warrior he needed someone to fix him. Hiring a small transport vessel to bring him to a more accommodating hub world, Deyox, Turmoil eventually wandered into a medic’s facility that had a few Cybertronains working there. 

Turmoil was accepted right away and put under for reconstructive surgery, waking after what had apparently been arduous repairs for the medics. At least now he simply needed to rest and let self repair do its job. Turmoil would live and make a full recovery, smiling behind his battle mask when the medic at last gave him a clean bill of health. 

It was time to begin the hunt for a traitor. 

“I need to know where I can buy a starship with battle equipment,” Turmoil said to one of the medics, the mech giving him a curious look. 

“There’s a station on the north side with a lot of different vessels. I don’t know what they have right now, but that’s a good place to start.”

Turmoil said nothing in reply, simply turning and plodding out of the med bay. He didn’t owe anyone thanks. The medics were lucky he hadn’t decided to turn on them after the repairs. Turmoil’s plating crawled at the thought that others had been touching him so intimately, pawing about at his seams and his internals. The brute had demons of his own, his incredible lack of trust being one of the strongest when it came to hands. Hands meant pain and misery. Hands were controlling. In the optics of a secretly abused creature, Turmoil saw everything and everyone as a threat. 

His outwardly calm and silent demeanor was nothing more than a shield for all the other emotions the tank grappled with. Rage, fear, confusion, mistrust, insecurity…each plagued Turmoil in its own way. At least he didn’t focus on the medics for long, turning his full attention to the task at hand. All he needed to do was find Deadlock—Drift. Whatever he went by now. He would only need to locate the traitor and dispatch him. 

Then he would report back to Megatron or another commanding officer to acquire his next mission.

****

Across the distance of space, Ratchet was also working on patients to aid their recovery. Perceptor was going to pull through even after his horrible damage, the red and white medic wiping his brow as he took a deep intake. Primus, it had been a long night to stabilize the scientist and sniper, but it had been worth the effort.

Ratchet turned his gaze to his two assistants who were struggling to figure out how to help the Decepticon aerial Kup and the newcomer had insisted was worth saving. Springer had been none to happy about it, but Ratchet frankly didn’t give a damn. If there was a mech or femme in need the ambulance wouldn’t ignore their plight. 

“Alright, you two. Take the rest of the night off and get some recharge. I’ll handle him from here.”

“We got his leg sorted out but his back injury is too complex for my skills. He was shot near his spinal strut and the bullet nicked some major nerve transmitters. He twitched and jerked the whole time we worked on his leg,” one of the apprentices huffed, folding his arms in annoyance. “Of course the Decepticon would be difficult to treat.”

“I said you had the rest of the night off. I didn’t tell you I wanted to hear your complaints. Go on, get,” Ratchet grunted, waving off the two mechs who swiftly took their leave.

On the operating table lay Splice, the black and laurel green aerial a quivering, twitching pile of terror and hurt. He had been given heavy painkillers and local anesthetic for his leg wound but had not been put under, spooked optics staring at Ratchet when the medic approached. Too tired to escape, Splice let out a low whine. Ratchet waved a dismissive hand at the Decepticon. 

“Hush, you. I’m not that scary,” he grunted, although he wasn’t entirely gruff. He did feel some empathy for the suffering mech. Sure, he was the enemy, but they all bled the same. 

Ratchet placed a hand on Splice’s upper back, holding him steady as he took a look at the bullet wound. It was pretty complicated to fix, but Ratchet had the supplies. So he gave the panicky Decepticon a reassuring pat on his undamaged side. 

“You’ll be fine,” he said simply, prepping an IV and some painkillers to keep Splice relaxed but conscious. He needed to be awake so that when the damage was repaired Ratchet could accurately test the rest of the mech’s joints and nerve responses. Being sluggish with drugs and sleep was not what the medic wanted. 

Splice tried to say something, anything, but no words came. He was petrified. The medics on the Decepticon side had always been cruel and sadistic. The jet expected to be maimed and tortured before his actual repairs, a terrorized crying-whine loosed when a sharp pinch followed by another dose of medication entered his system. 

“You’re fine,” Ratchet snorted, wondering what had gotten into the other mech. Normally Decepticons got angry, not scared. But then again, they all got hurt and mechs reacted in whatever way regardless of their faction symbol. “You’ll be awake, albeit relaxed, but you won’t feel a thing.”

Indeed Splice did not feel a thing, the mech staring in terror at the far wall regardless. He kept expecting something to be agonizingly painful, but nothing happened. He only felt the dull tug and pull of the medic working on stitching up his protoflesh once the bullet had been removed from the wound and the internal components fully repaired. 

Ratchet proceeded to check all of Splice’s reflexes and hummed his approval when the limbs worked as they should and no twitching followed. Splice was going to be in recovery for the duration of the flight back to Cybertron, but at least he would live without any nerve damage. 

Splice didn’t fight when Ratchet picked him up, for a moment surprised at how strong the medic was. He curled into the arms that carried him out of the med bay and down the many halls of the starship. The mech didn’t know where they were going but once he heard Ratchet imput a lock code his destination was clear. 

The aerial found himself in the brig of the Autobot ship, only two other prisoners behind bars in their own cells. They said nothing as Splice was set down in his own cell, Ratchet taking the time to wrap up the recovering mech with a mesh blanket. He hated that any patient of his had to be stuck in a cold brig, but there was nothing to be done for it. That was policy.

Splice shivered, curling into the blanket. The berth was stiff but at least he had a cell to himself and a blanket. He shuttered his amethyst optics, trying to remember better days.


	3. Rodimus/Drift ~ The Past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the incredibly slow updates and shortness of this chapter. Another one is in the works! I promise I will do my best to update everything that's sitting around waiting for more chapters. There are a lot of stories I have half written that simply need my attention. The muse is not dead, only lazy~

The journey to Cybertron was a long one and Drift was relieved to finally get off the ship. His helm finials pinned back when he was bombarded with the loud sounds and bright lights of Iacon’s landing terminal, the mech unsure where he was supposed to go now. The Wreckers had no intention of letting him stick around (which made sense since he wasn’t one of them), but without any guidance he would be all on his own trying to navigate the planet he hadn’t stepped foot on in almost too many years to count. 

Drift watched as Kup and his crew ushered off the three prisoners, one of which was Splice. The jet had partially recovered during his stay in the brig but the damage was extensive enough to merit more rest and possibly extra repairs upon entry into a prison. Drift had no idea where the mech would end up or when his trial would be, but it was no longer his problem. He had done what was right and now the mech’s life was left in the hands of others. 

The white and red mech wandered off in the opposite direction of the Wreckers, choosing to head into the heart of the city. Iacon. He had never been there before. Mechs who lived in the Dead End rarely ever found their way out, most of all to a place as posh and upper-class as Iacon. The sheer amount of lights was enough to make Drift feel overwhelmed, remembering how the Dead End had been such a dark, dreary place. Iaocn had so much more life. 

Bars were usually good places to start making new connections, so Drift decided he would stop by the first place he came across that looked like he could afford a drink or two. He had enough credits to pay for his voyage to Cybertron but it had done considerable damage to his finances. And now that he was no longer marauding with Turmoil and the crew he had no source of income. 

A job would be in order. 

Drift soon stumbled across a busy bar, slipping inside to avoid the bustle of the city street. It was so crowded! The mech needed time to sit down and process the new sights. So many electric signs and advertisements! He was shocked a city had that much extra funding, or perhaps it was bought by private owners trying to show off their wealth? He had no clue. 

He padded carefully over to the bar counter and ordered some high grade over crystal ice, taking a seat apart from the other guests. He wasn’t ready to mingle with the patrons of the bar—at least he felt he needed to figure out something intelligent to say before he made efforts to talk. These bar mechs were higher class than anyone he had seen in the low sector. It was unnerving and different, Drift hoping he could observe the others for a while. If he could learn the new customs and understand how bars worked in Iacon he figured he would do just fine. 

‘What am I doing? I’m fooling myself into thinking there’s a place for me here. Iacon isn’t going to accept me,’ he thought, taking a sip of his drink. He watched the ice cubes float aimlessly around in the light purple drink, bumping against the glass. 

As he stared at his high grade, a figure moved from a seat across the bar to settle themselves in the open place beside Drift. “Hey, there! You new to this place? I’ve never seen anyone look so confused at a bar before,” came a cheerful voice. 

Drift’s helm finials flicked upwards in alarm and he jerked away from the friendly greeting, optics locking onto the smiling face of a red and yellow mech with fiery orange decals along his arms and chest. The hot rod laughed at the reaction, not taking offense to the stranger's behavior. 

“I know, I know, I’m a real catch and it threw you off guard!” the mech laughed, trying to make light of the situation as he extended a hand. Drift watched him, wary of the sudden welcoming nature. Usually that was a warning sign. “Just kidding, I know I came out of nowhere and probably disturbed some important thoughts. Anyway, my name’s Hot Rod, but most of the people around here call me Rodimus.”

Drift smiled after another moment of hesitation and reached out to shake the offered hand. “My name’s Drift and I’m very new here. I just got dropped off today.”

“Well, you’re going to love it here! Iacon is a lot of fun,” Rodimus said brightly, ordering another drink for himself. “Do you want an insider tour?”

“I’d like that if you have the time.”

Rodimus agreed, happy to order some silver chips for them both as they began to talk. Drift lied and said he came from Rodion, not Polyhex, and soon the two were talking as if they had been friends since the beginning. Rodimus was easy to talk to and Drift needed someone. He knew not to trust deeply but for now there was no harm in having a companion to chatter with. Deep secrets would be withheld for now. 

A few hours later the mechs were out in the streets, Drift taking in the sights with Rodimus at his side. The tricolor muscle car was blabbering away about the various restaurants and which bars were the best, happy to have someone to walk with. It seemed like he needed a friend just as much as Drift. 

“Do you have a place to stay?” Rodimus asked, concerned when he saw how late the night had become and started to feel some fatigue himself. “I can point you to some good inns or if you’re really tough on cash I can make a place for you on my couch.”

Drift shook his head, offering a smile. 

“I wouldn’t want to intrude in your life so much. Tell me the best places to stay and I’ll pick one out that I can afford. Thank you again for all your help, Rodimus. You’ve been a life saver,” Drift said, optics warm despite some underlying fear. He was still in a very foreign place even though he now had some slight grasp of the surrounding city. Sadly for him a few good places to eat and drink weren’t going to be that helpful in the long run. Drift needed a secure job, a safe place to sleep, a friend…

He figured he might have a friend now but it was too soon to know for sure. 

“So you…wanna meet up tomorrow? I can stop by and check on you! You know, just to make sure no one bugged you or anything. Sometimes newcomers get hassled by the city folk,” Rodimus offered, completely innocent in his suggestion. Drift listened carefully to be sure there was no hidden lie behind his words. He was used to being near mechs that rarely ever bothered to tell the truth. 

“I…that would be nice! I’d like that,” Drift said, offering a tentative smile. “I’ll meet you here, right outside this inn whenever you want.”

“You should add my com frequency to your contacts,” Rodimus said, eagerly getting out a chip with his frequency on it. He passed it over with a beaming smile, the expression infectious. Before Drift could help himself he was grinning, too, unable to stop the expression. 

“Thank you, Rodimus.”  
“You’re welcome! I’ll call you tomorrow and stop by once I’m done with work!” he said, waving goodbye as he trotted back down the street to wherever he lived. Drift watched him go, the white and red mech still feeling the smile on his lips. He knew it was foolish to put his faith in anyone so quickly, most of all someone so eager to befriend him. 

‘When will I ever learn to trust again if not now? I need to make an effort and he could be a sign sent to me by Primus and whatever other gods are looking down on us. I can’t pass up a friend,’ Drift thought as he walked slowly into the inn and booked a room for three nights. That would be enough time for him to figure out where he could work and perhaps buy an apartment with the last of his saved credits. 

The mech eventually found his room and unlocked it, entering with a small sigh of relief. Everything looked clean and comfortable. It was better than what he was used to in Turmoil’s ship. Their shared quarters had been cramped and stiff, not exactly enjoyable to return to after a long day of fighting or simply doing tasks aboard the vessel. 

Drift slumped down in the berth with a quiet huff. He was grateful for many things, his freedom from Turmoil at the forefront of his thoughts as he slipped off into recharge.

****

“What’s wrong with that one?” the prison warden asked as Springer and Roadbuster arrived with three Decepticon prisoners. Splice was currently being dragged along by Roadbuster, the aerial unable to fully stand due to his recovering injury yet forced to walk once Kup was no longer there to protect him from the other less agreeable Wreckers. 

Springer growled. “He’s damaged but it’s not a big deal. He’s pretending he can’t walk right now.”

Splice said nothing, keeping his head lowered and his jaw clenched. If he cried out from any pain now everyone would know he was weak and therefore a perfect target in the prison. The warden rolled his optics and gestured for the Wreckers to enter the prison. Once all the locks opened the warriors plodded inside with their chained captives in tow.

Splice’s wings flicked down towards his sides when he was assaulted by the wall of noise. Prisoners were shouting at the top of their vocalizers and many began to slam their fists against the metal walls of their cells as the Wreckers walked past. Abuse was thrown at them but neither Springer nor Roadbuster appeared concerned. This was all normal and came with the job. 

“Those two are sharing a cell. Put the broken one in with someone who won’t immediately kill him,” Springer said, Roadbuster shoving the two able-bodied mechs into an empty cell. Splice was hauled further down the row of cells until one was found with a single sedan type in it.

“In you go,” Roadbuster growled, pushing Splice into his new home. The light bars went back up behind the prisoner, trapping him inside the small space where a maroon and gray sedan was currently residing. The Decepticon aerial barely made it to the stiff berth before he collapsed, a soft groan escaping before he could help it. 

His roommate growled back, the sedan small but certainly not a pushover. 

“You won’t last,” he hissed, checking out what he thought would be a temporary companion. “You’ll be used by the whole lot of them once they catch you alone.”

“Do I have to leave the cell?”

“If you want to eat,” the sedan replied, shrugging it off.

Splice quietly curled up tighter where he was, the ache in his back nagging him but not nearly as much as the thoughts of what might befall him when the prison warden came the next morning to usher the prisoners out of their cells for their morning meal.

**Author's Note:**

> Also in case anyone was wondering why the title is 'Two of Swords' it's because I read Tarot cards and figured the card fit Drift perfectly. Not to mention he has two swords of his own haha.


End file.
